


this radiant moment will bloom

by acronichose



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Based on Yoohyeon’s Clover Tattoo, F/F, Lee Siyeon: Disaster Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29509917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acronichose/pseuds/acronichose
Summary: She’s technically open, but weekend mornings for her always look like inkstained hands, a Venti Iced White Chocolate Mocha, and a stunning lack of will to live. This slot of day is usually reserved for her taking inventory and tuning up her needle machine, since no one ever really comes around.Except today.(The three times Siyeon learns the meaning of a flower + the two times she doesn’t.)
Relationships: Kim Yoohyeon/Lee Siyeon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	this radiant moment will bloom

Siyeon finds herself grateful for Minji’s strange-founded insistence to get windchimes for her shop. 

It’s eight in the morning on a Saturday, but they clank around anyway. She’s _technically_ open, but weekend mornings for her always look like inkstained hands, a Venti Iced White Chocolate Mocha, and a stunning lack of will to live. This slot of day is usually reserved for her taking inventory and tuning up her needle machine, since no one ever really comes around. 

Except today. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” the woman who’d walked in says, as if she’s known Siyeon for years. Siyeon barely has time to compose herself. 

She stands up and puts her hand behind her back. “What can I do for you?”

The woman’s ponytail swishes when she tilts her head. A nametag on her chest reads _YOOHYEON._ She looks at Siyeon with a tired exasperation—Siyeon would think she’s pretty if she wasn’t too busy wondering what she did wrong. “You’re the—are you the artist?”

Siyeon nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Yoohyeon frowns. “Well, I’d just always expected—”

It used to be something Siyeon was weirdly proud of, then the remark’s repetitiveness got annoying, and then now it’s slowly dimmed down to indifference. She’s used to it. “Yeah, I only have three tiny little tattoos. I have a portfolio of what I’ve done on other people, though, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I— _no,_ ” Yoohyeon retorts. “I came here because I run the flower shop across the street—you know the one?”

Siyeon blinks in surprise. It opened only a few months ago. Florists don’t really have dead giveaways like tattoo artists do, but for some reason Siyeon is still struck. “I do.”

“Well, the other day someone came from _this parlor_ ,” she says, hands to her hips, “to my shop, because they got a tattoo of a honeysuckle. Ring any bells?”

Siyeon just looks. 

A sigh. “It’s a yellow flower.”

“ _Oh._ ” Siyeon nods—maybe a tad too furiously. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Anyway, they wanted to buy one from me, so they could take a picture of it with their ‘new ink for the ‘gram’.” Yoohyeon says the last phrase with air quotes. “And I asked to see the tattoo, you know, like your usual small business owner who wants to build rapport.”

Siyeon swallows. Something about this woman having seen her work makes her itch in vulnerability. “Okay.”

“And it said, underneath, _I miss you_ ,” Yoohyeon goes. She raises an eyebrow. “ _I miss you_ —did you suggest that?”

“No.” Siyeon shakes her head. “No, it was—them. They said that’s what honeysuckles meant.”

Yoohyeon scoffs. “Well, _they don’t._ They’ve never meant anything but happiness. It’s always about happiness—can I see that?”

Siyeon looks to where she’s pointed. Her clearbook of guide designs. She picks it up and hands it, says, “Sure.”

“You have flowers here?”

“Uh, yeah, shouldn’t be too far down.”

Only the harsh sound of the plastic pages being flipped, for a few minutes. Then Yoohyeon goes, “ _Ah,_ ” and pulls out a Sharpie from her pocket. She scribbles on the page looking almost automatic. 

She hands it back like that, open faced. “It’s not a permanent marker, so you can just rub it off later,” she says. “But that’s the name and meaning of each flower you have here. Make sure your clients get it right next time.”

Siyeon looks down at it—the messy, overflowing scrawl. When she looks back up Yoohyeon is halfway out the door, the chimes clanking again. 

An odd feeling settling in her abdomen. Is she embarrassed? Glad? Angry?

The clouds scatter clean and the early sun comes through Siyeon’s windows, straight to her skin, a gentle heat. _Pay attention_ , it says. 

She fishes out her phone and types:

**singni [8.22am]:** so theres this girl...

**bbora [8.22am]:** ??????????

**jjyu [8.22am]:** ma’am ……

  
  
  


+

  
  


“Tattoo parlor-ssi? Hello?”

Siyeon pauses her hand and gives her current client an apologetic smile. “May I? It’ll be just a few minutes.”

This one is thankfully, kinder than most. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll just relax here.”

“Thanks.” She nods gratefully and sets her needle aside. 

At the door stands Yoohyeon, hair frazzled and—out of breath? “Siyeon is okay, please,” she tells her. 

“Siyeon.” Yoohyeon smiles. “I was just wondering if we could borrow one of your parking spaces for a few hours? We have a huge delivery coming up and we don’t have enough lots for all the vans that are coming over.”

Siyeon waves a hand. “No problem. Though if someone comes they might have no choice to park in front of them.”

“That’s fine; I’ll just let you know if we need a car moved.” Yoohyeon blinks, then inhales. Asks, “Is it okay if I ask for your number for that? So I don’t have to cross the street, you know.”

“Oh.” Siyeon’s—dumbstruck, for a moment. She clears her throat. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

“Thanks.” Yoohyeon grins and brings out that same Sharpie again. Hands it to Siyeon and stretches her palm open. 

Yoohyeon’s hand is colder than Siyeon would have thought. She holds it with her left to steady it as she puts down her number. Neither of them say a word. 

“Done,” Siyeon says, capping the marker and handing it back. 

Yoohyeon pockets it while looking at the digits on her hand, head bowed. Siyeon takes notice of the stray fragments of petals that have gathered on the crown of her head, her shoulder—it really must be a busy day for the shop. 

Siyeon reaches out. “You’ve got—”

Her hand stretches to dust them off, and there’s a small jump of surprise from Yoohyeon. She looks up.

The petals fall around her like confetti. Like scattered applause. Floating back-and-forth, down down down to the brushed concrete. There is—the sun behind Yoohyeon, a kind halo, maybe, or a spotlight. The light once again an instruction: _Look_. Time slowing to honeyflow. Siyeon finds herself stunned in place.

A breeze blows, and there go Siyeon’s windchimes again. They tinkle and Yoohyeon says, “Violets. Deepness and faith.”

“Ah.” Siyeon slides her hands in her back pockets. “Anniversary?”

“Fiftieth.” Yoohyeon smiles. “Look, I really have to go—”

“Oh, of course—” 

“Thanks for this,” Yoohyeon finally says, waving with the marked hand, and leaving.

Siyeon returns to her work and her client says, “Who was it?”

“Just.” Siyeon pulls down the edge of her glove. She clasps, unclasps, reclasps her needle pen. Can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “An acquaintance.”

  
  
  


+

  
  


“Nice of you to come by, considering I’ve been to your shop twice now. You didn’t even welcome me when I opened! So much for neighborhood friendliness.”

Yoohyeon fires her remarks from behind a counter lined with small, potted plants. 

“I’m sorry—I’m just in a horrible rush.” Siyeon runs a hand through her hair. “I forgot about my sister’s birthday. It’s kind of an emergency.”

“How could you forget _your sister’s birthday?_ ”

“We’ve lived in different places for a while, she has a family now.” Siyeon bites her lip. “Could you help me out? A small bouquet will do.”

Yoohyeon rolls her eyes but moves to pick out flowers from all around the shop anyway. A confidence Siyeon can only wish to have; an effortlessness.

She returns to her counter with a bunch in hand and arranges them in a pattern. “Hawthorn and lily of the valley, because it’s May,” she says, “well wishes and sweetness. And some roses, because you can’t go wrong with those. Is brown wrapping paper okay with you for this one? And a white ribbon?”

Siyeon nods—it’s hard not to trust Yoohyeon’s sureness, her clear passion for her craft.

Only a few more minutes and Yoohyeon’s done. She hands them to Siyeon and—she can’t help the small burst of rush she feels, being given flowers from her. She surveys the bouquet: quietly beautiful, even in the haste it was prepared in.

Siyeon hands Yoohyeon the first crumpled bill she can find—probably twice what the bouquet is worth, considering, but Siyeon doesn’t mind. “Thank you _so much,_ you lifesaver,” she tells Yoohyeon, and Yoohyeon responds with a two-fingered salute.

Siyeon sprints.

  
  
  


+

  
  
  


**[unknown] [12:56pm]:** are you free

**[unknown] [12:56pm]:** i think i wanna get a tattoo…

**you [12:58pm]:** sorry, who’s this?

**[unknown] [12:59pm]:** OH sorry this is yoohyeon!! from the flower shop

**you [1:01pm]:** oh hi!! im free til 3

**you [1:01pm]:** i mean sure but r u sure?? this shouldn’t be an impulsive thing yknow

**yoohyeon [1:02pm]:** hold on i’m coming over

Sure enough, she does, and she’s standing under the dim neon lights of Siyeon’s parlor once again. 

“What brings this about?” Siyeon asks, swivelling in her chair. 

Yoohyeon shrugs. “The reckless impulse of youth?” she replies. “Also, your shop being in my line of sight the entire day _definitely_ doesn’t help. I get it now.”

Siyeon snorts. “As long as you’re sure—this stuff stays on you forever.” 

“I think I know how tattoos work.” Wry grin stretching across her face. “I’ll just get a small one, anyway.”

“Good idea.” Siyeon reaches to switch on her laminating machine. Its hum adds to everything else buzzing in the air. “Do you have any ideas for the design?”

“Funny you ask,” Yoohyeon says, as if it’s a question that’s not supposed to be brought forth. Siyeon stifles a laugh. “I thought about this a lot, contrary to what you might think.”

Yoohyeon’s face looks a lot more thoughtful in the lack of light, shadow and depth and things Siyeon wants to reach into. “I thought about daisies, at first. And then a small dandelion, maybe blowing in the wind—cliché, but for a reason, right?”

Siyeon nods.

“I also thought about sunflowers. And cherry blossoms, and plum blossoms. And jonquils.”

The names seem familiar, oddly enough—in marker scrawl, some, and from sheer curiosity, others. Siyeon’s browser history would probably make a peruser think she had Yoohyeon’s job instead of her own. Flowers have found themselves in the margins of Siyeon’s sketchbooks, lately, too. “Have you decided on one?”

“I have,” Yoohyeon says. Grins again. “I want a four-leaf clover.”

Siyeon blinks. Tilts her head. “A four-leaf clover,” she echoes.

“No, think about it—no one knows what any of the flowers mean, right, except for maybe a rose, but even then that’s just vague.” Yoohyeon’s speech comes rapid-fire, excited, like she’s stumbled upon something glorious. “But a four-leaf clover—that doesn’t need any explaining at all. The only plant that's language is universal. Everybody knows what it means.”

Yoohyeon holds out her arm and points by the crease of her elbow. “Right here,” she tells Siyeon.

Siyeon cracks her knuckles. “Okay,” she says. “Think it’ll bring you luck?”

Yoohyeon shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe inking it on you will give me some, too,” Siyeon replies. There’s a lightness above her diaphragm, a nervousness. She swallows.

“Why?” Yoohyeon asks. “Do you need any?”

“I do.” Siyeon smiles. Everything’s blooming now, she thinks. Yoohyeon’s voice. Siyeon’s resolve. The flowers that idle in her guide design book; the clover that’s inexplicably there, too. In between them. 

Siyeon wills it into life. “Because I’d like to ask you if you’re free on Friday night.”

Her heartbeat a hummingbird’s wings—those take to flowers, too, right?

Another bloom: the slow look of delight that spreads on Yoohyeon’s face, unfurling. “I get off at seven.”

  
  
  


+

  
  
  


Outside Siyeon’s apartment building, she scuffs her shoe on the sidewalk.

“This is me,” she tells Yoohyeon.

They had dinner. Watched a movie, too. Siyeon learns myriads. About how Yoohyeon opened her shop, about how she’s as passionate with languages as she is flowers. About her family: three siblings, she’s the third of four. About her best friend that had texted incessantly through the night, questions and updates and advice and threats. 

What she also learns: how Yoohyeon’s hand gets warmer when it’s in hers. How her ash blonde hair catches in the moonlight. How the subway is less scary when she’s with her. How soft her laugh gets when she’s shy.

Yoohyeon points her thumb over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll—”

“Wait.” Siyeon reaches into her pocket. She has a small drawstring bag and she empties it into her hands. The best looking of the dozens of daffodils she’d dried in the sun. “Here—I don’t know how you’ll take to flowers as a gift, but …”

“Oh.” It comes out more as a breath. “No—these are lovely.” Yoohyeon smiles.

Siyeon sighs. “I’m glad,” she says. “New beginnings, right?”

The smile grows. “Yeah.” Yoohyeon nods. She steps closer. “New beginnings.”

She kisses Siyeon. Shy, warm, sweet. Siyeon swipes her thumb just by the still healing ink of Yoohyeon’s arm just to tell herself this is real.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yoohyeon whispers against her mouth.

“Yeah.” Siyeon can’t help her laugh. “You will.”

Siyeon keeps watching Yoohyeon’s back as she walks away. Watches and watches until the lampposts aren’t enough light anymore and she’s swallowed by darkness or turned the corner or obfuscated by the night.

She reaches for her phone.

**singni [11.15pm]:** she kissed me

**jjyu [11.15pm]:** OH MY GOD????????? LEE SIYEON?!?/1/1/?!

**bbora [11.15pm]:** CALL US

  
  



End file.
